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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033307">he who protects</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunandroses/pseuds/sunandroses'>sunandroses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Discworld - Terry Pratchett, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bedtime Stories, Childhood, Drabble, Fantasy, Folklore, Gen, Gods, Typical Discworld Style Shenanigans, Witches, no beta no similes we die, screw it i'll edit this tomorrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:29:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunandroses/pseuds/sunandroses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At age 5, Petulia Gristle was afraid of many things. She's afraid of pins, she's afraid of disagreements, and she's especially afraid of monsters.</p><p>But, as someone once told her, if monsters are made real because of their stories, then other things can be real, too. Ones that fight against monsters. Those who can <i>protect.</i> And all it takes is a story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Petulia Gristle &amp; Din Djarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>he who protects</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This came to me as I was falling asleep so of course I had to write it. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the fate of younger siblings to suffer the torments of the rest of their family. Oh sure, Petulia's brothers might argue that her being the youngest made her spoiled, made her the <em>baby</em>. But then why else would a spoiled child be sobbing under her blankets long past her bedtime?</p><p>"And then ... it jumped out of the shadows ... and it <em>ate</em> them!"</p><p>Laughter erupted from the next room over. Petulia quietly whined. It wasn't <em>fair</em> that her cousins coming to visit meant that her brothers could stay up as long as they wanted entertaining them, even if they weren't supposed to. They'd been going at it for <em>hours.</em> She was supposed to be asleep by now!</p><p>But she couldn't sleep. Not when there were stories about monsters that lurked under beds, monsters that lived in the shadows and made all your worst fears come true. And those stories <em>were</em> true. Somewhere, somehow, all stories were true, whether someone believed in them or not, just like the gods and goddesses that resided over her world. They didn't need anyone believing in them to be real. They just were.</p><p>If those gods were listening, then they certainly weren't listening to her, or else they couldn't. Not unless ... said god knew how to slip noiselessly past her creaky door, the light of the hallway gone and back quick as blink. Or to avoid the loose floorboard and side-step the toys she hadn't picked up.</p><p>A dip in the thin mattress and then the god who wasn't leaned their weight on the snivelling pile of blankets.</p><p>"... I'd ask why you're still awake, but I guess that would be stupid."</p><p>Petulia sniffled. Of course her cousin Jameson would find her like this. She burrowed further into her bedsheet. "Why do they have to say all the ... all the scary ones? I don't like it."</p><p>"They're young. They think those stories are funny."</p><p>"But they're not!" She furiously whispered. "How can they be funny when they can also be true? What if those monsters really <em>do</em> come out? What'll they do then?"</p><p>"Well, I haven't seen them around here yet. But I'll let you know if I do." There was a grin in Jameson's voice. "You know, I think this is the first time today I've heard you have an opinion on anything."</p><p>He earned a pinch for that. "You know what they're like." Petulia grumbled. "I say anything to them and suddenly it's a big issue for everyone and then they tell mum I'm being troublesome again. At least <em>you</em> don't make me feel like a stupid crybaby all the time. And ... and they should know better. They should know what those stories can do. I don't like it. It's not fair and I wish ... I wish ..." The rest of her words petered into mumbles, until they eventually limped into the embarrassed silence and left her to wallow in it.</p><p>Jameson didn't bother to change that. He just let it happen. That was another thing about him. Unlike with other people, awkwardness and the like never really seemed to bother him much. Whatever Petulia's brothers complained about in her were things that practically flew over his head and much of the time she spent in his company often ended in him quietly following her around their farm while she rambled to and about her favourite animals. It was a strange and novel experience in her short span of life.</p><p>Her brothers called it "being boring". Her mum called it "being a thoughtful, considerate young man".</p><p>After a thoughtful, considerate pause, Jameson spoke. "How about I make you a different story?"</p><p>Petulia frowned. Her teeth came out to worry her lip. "... Can you do that?"</p><p>"Why not? If other people can make stories, then I can too, can't I? What do you think?"</p><p>Petulia shrugged. He was the older one, he could do whatever he wanted. It's not like he needed her permission for that. At the very least, this was just his way of trying to get her to fall asleep sooner, so she might as well get comfortable.</p><p>Her lack of response being answer enough, Jameson shifted his weight, the bed creaking under him. "Let's see ..."</p><p>"... There are many evils in this world. Some of them are monsters that come from the shadows, breathing fire and poison and carnage. Or they might come from the depths of the sea, bringing earthquakes and floods with them. They might even come from completely different worlds altogether, dragged into this one through gods or magic or the will of humans."</p><p>"But why would anyone-?"</p><p>"Shh! I'm not done. Do you want this story or not? You do? Then let me finish. So. Monsters. Whatever they are, wherever they come from, they are always lurking. Lurking in the darkest corners, places where no one wants to go. But ... in the darkest of corners there also live something else. Something that proves an equal match for these monsters. They are protectors and guardians. They are ... the Mandalorians."</p><p>"... what does that mean?"</p><p>"... I don't honestly know. I just made that up. It can mean whatever you want it to mean."</p><p>Petulia thought about it. "... okay. What are they like?"</p><p>"The Mandalorians are brave and strong. They are the best of warriors, and have fighting skills that armies can only dream of. But most of all they are indestructible. Why? Because the armour they wear is special, and it is because ... it is made out of beskar. Beskar is stronger than the sharpest talons. It can withstand even dragon teeth without getting a scratch, and no poison can put a mark on it. The Mandalorians wear this armour because they follow a creed, and that creed is to protect the children of the world. If there are monsters, or if a child is ever in danger, then there will always be a Mandalorian ready to fight for them and protect them. So if you hear stories about monsters, know that there will always be a Mandalorian out there ready to chase those monsters away."</p><p>“… And?”</p><p>“And that’s it. The end.”</p><p>“… That’s <em>it?</em> Where’s the rest of it? A story’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, and end, isn’t it? There’s barely even a beginning in there. And where are the other characters? That doesn’t sound like much of a story.”</p><p>Jameson laughed. “Okay, fair point. But that’s all I’ve got. I’m sure your smart enough to come up with more if you want to.”</p><p>It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, nor that she couldn’t. The <em>point</em> was that he was the one who’d started the story and so naturally <em>he</em> was supposed to finish it. If it were anyone else she would’ve left it alone, and in a few years time she would’ve even apologised for asking and insisted on backtracking the conversation into taking a completely different route. But this wasn’t just anyone and she wasn’t so old that she’d gotten there just yet so instead she went into a sulking, grumbling rant that went on for so long that she eventually fell asleep to it. By the time she woke up, it was almost morning and Jameson was gone.</p><p>But when she went to make her bed, something fell out. A tiny, dented metal soldier. It looked like something that might have belonged to her brothers, and she would’ve thought it was … except for the red “M” painted on its chest.</p><p>A Mandalorian. Her own little knight.</p><p>He made a home in her apron pocket. Between chores she would know he was there, and when she was left to play by herself – or play with her brothers, though they often left her behind – she’d bring him out and together they’d explore. She’d show him to the animals on the farm and pretend that they could understand her when she narrated the adventures of the Mandalorian.</p><p>At some point she started calling him Din. Din and tin, it rhymed.</p><p>It was an easy name to whisper to herself in the dark, when the light under the door flickered. When the wind knocked on her window, and the cold brushed icy fingers through her hair.</p><p>In the years that came forth, Petulia's protector faded in and out of memory. Long after she'd lost the toy, there were times where she could almost be sure that she saw her friend out of the corner of her eye. She knew he was there, even if he disappeared the moment she tried to stare right at him. Even if no one but her could really see him or knew what he looked like or knew him. <em>She</em> knew. She knew it by the strengthening of her shadow when she walked in the sun, the reassuring presence she'd feel at her back, in the invisible weight that would settle on her shoulder when she needed to find her confidence.</p><p>She learned to trust in that. The things in her head and her heart were worth listening to. The stories she'd crafted over the years held power.</p><p>It was a power she remembered when she stood facing the forest.</p><p>The winter had been harsh. Not near as bad as the one that had come when she was 13, but enough to make the trees crack and the wolves begin to venture into the village.</p><p>Petulia had grown from a young girl into a young woman. Her knowledge and talents had also grown, soon making hers one of the most well-known names throughout the mountains. But more than that, this village was her home and she was their<em> witch.</em> They <em>needed</em> her, now more than ever.</p><p>And she ... she needed her friend.</p><p>In the gathering dark, Petulia thought of her stories. Many of them started the same. When the monsters came snarling out of the shadows and fear froze solid in the limbs. When the danger was at its worst and hope out of sight.</p><p>At once, she felt a presence at her side. From the corner of her eye, a shadow deeper than the dark loomed into being. Had it been another time, a lighter one, Petulia would've smiled.</p><p>"... Hello, Din."</p><p>A whisper of wind like the rustle of fabric brushed past her ear.</p><p>"... Hello. It has been a long time." A voice made of quiet, rumbling thunder answered.</p><p>"It has." If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine his stance, guarded but ready to fight. His armor, unblemished after countless battles, and the sharp lines of his helmet. Stern and foreboding to all who first saw it, but to her as familiar as the creases of her palm. "Right now, there are children in danger. I need your help protecting them. Will you help me?"</p><p>The shadow at head height dipped into a nod. "What do we have to do?"</p><p>"We need to find the wolves of this forest. Before the night ends."</p><p>He nodded again. The wind blew once more, this time carrying distant howls.</p><p>Petulia squared her shoulders. Walking stick in one hand, pointy hat firmly on her head, she marched into the forest, knowing that he would follow.</p><p>Even if she wasn't the most frightening thing around, she had someone who <em>definitely</em> was. And that was enough.</p>
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